


across miles

by Barrhorn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (of course), Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 15:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12391080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barrhorn/pseuds/Barrhorn
Summary: A potential second Crisis has been averted, and Angela Ziegler is offered a chance to help restore Australia's outback and undo some of the damage from the first Crisis. It's an offer she can't refuse, no matter what she might have to leave behind.Or, more importantly, whom.





	across miles

**Author's Note:**

> for clouds

She zips the suitcase closed and then pauses, resting her hands on the scuffed nylon top as she looks around the room, trying to notice anything she’s forgotten. It’s hard to shake the feeling that she has, that there’s one last thing that she’s overlooked.

It still doesn’t feel real. That tomorrow, she’s leaving for Australia to help rebuild infrastructure, to treat patients but also train doctors and restore hospitals, to research what can be done to recover the land. It’s important, needed work. When she’d been approached with the offer, she’d jumped at it, knowing what a difference it could make.

It’s also an assignment that will take months, years, and while she plans to make it all self-sustainable, she doesn’t know exactly how long she’ll be needed there.

Which is why the bedroom she shares with Fareeha is half torn apart, things scattered about as they were taken out of drawers and then discarded, why there’s a list with items scratched out or checked off and notes scribbled in the margins when she usually prides herself on being one of the first packed and out the door.

(A lifetime on the move does that.)

But now, looking around the room, she sees not just the mess of her preparations, but also all the evidence of the life she’d finally been establishing in one place. The photos on the wall of places and people, the small lucky cat statue that Genji had given her once, the mug that Jesse had given to her that had held her morning coffee. Small things that have accumulated over time because she hasn’t had to live out of a suitcase the way she used to. Little pieces of affection and care from her friends, from her family, now that she has those people who want to celebrate birthdays and holidays and the simple “I saw this and thought of you” generosity that had Mei pressing some beautiful fabric into her hands.

And, everywhere, evidence of Fareeha. A book resting on the bedside table, a small jewelry box neatly set on the corner of the dresser, the Helix windbreaker tossed over the back of a chair after her morning run. The mismatched blue pillowcase because she has that one pillow she really likes, so that it’s always obvious which one is hers. The open closet, one side of it conspicuously emptier than the other (though a few missing hangers on the right are Angela’s doing as well).

Skimming her eyes over the room, it hits her again how much she is leaving behind, and how little of that are actual possessions.

“Have everything?”

The warm voice grabs her attention, and Angela swings her head back to see Fareeha in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest, stance wary but her expression fond. Because they’ve talked about this assignment, and though they each know that it’s going to be difficult, though they know that it won’t be the same, neither of them wants to give up the relationship that’s slowly grown (that they’ve built, piece by piece) over the past three years.

Perhaps it’s selfish, Angela thinks, to ask so much of Fareeha. Because even in Overwatch, even with them both risking their lives, they’d never been apart for so long. But she desperately, _desperately_ doesn’t want to lose Fareeha, not without even trying. And when Fareeha had said it was something she was happy to try, it was perhaps too easy to believe her.

Because they’d talked about a future together, before this was ever a possibility, and they’d decided that the Australia project didn’t have to change that future, just their path to it. That’s how Angela’s determined to think about it, even though she knows that thinking doesn’t always make it so.

“I do,” she says quietly. “At least, I believe so.”

Fareeha uncrosses her arms and walks forward, rounding the bed, gentle concern written across her face, and Angela wonders just what she looks like. But she folds herself into Fareeha’s arms without hesitation, nuzzling against her collarbone, just taking a moment to breathe her in. She feels as well as hears Fareeha’s soft sigh, relaxes into the kiss against her temple.

“I’d bring you if I could,” she says into Fareeha’s shirt, and is rewarded with a low rumble of laughter.

“I wouldn’t fit in there,” Fareeha tells her, then pauses. “And, judging by the state of the closet, you’ve already packed some of my things.”

Angela smiles, pressing herself closer to Fareeha. “Just a few.”

Fareeha hums skeptically, teasingly. “Including that blue plaid that I don’t think I’ve worn since you took it the first time, looks like. Does that even count as mine anymore?”

“It’s more fun for me if it does,” Angela answers, knowing that her smile is clear in her voice, knowing that Fareeha hears it in the way her arms tighten around her.

She’s going to miss this.

And Fareeha doesn’t miss her sigh or the way her hands grasp at her shirt, reads her change in mood effortlessly. “Take a break,” she advises softly. “Lie down with me for a bit.”

After nodding against Fareeha’s chest, Angela disentangles herself reluctantly, and though she reaches for the suitcase, Fareeha beats her to it, lifting it easily off the bed and setting it on the ground. The wheels clunk solidly against the wood floor, and there’s something in that heavy sound that feels final to her. Despite the last crossed off item on her list, despite the zipper closing, despite the clock’s hands showing the late hour, it’s that sound that makes her realize that this is really happening, and happening _now_.

She’s leaving. She’d sworn to herself a long time ago that she wouldn’t leave a call for help unanswered, and even in this moment she can’t regret responding to this one, cannot find herself wishing she’d made another choice. But always being the first responder meant that she was always chasing trouble, always in demand, never able to settle in one place for too long.

Until now, and the woman in front of her.

Not Gibraltar, not Overwatch, not any of the many scattered Watchpoints. But Fareeha herself, through all of it.

A home, after Angela’s denied herself one for so long.

Hands wrap around her forearms gently, and Angela does not resist as Fareeha guides her forward. “Stolen clothes weigh more,” she’s saying, and Angela focuses on the curve of her lips, the drop of one eye in a wink as Fareeha sits them both onto the bed. “Must be all the guilt.”

“Marry me,” Angela says.

Fareeha stills beside her, and now her eyes search Angela’s with the same focused precision that Angela’s used to seeing on the battlefield or in strategy meetings. And Angela meets that gaze squarely, because yes, it’s unfair to ask this of Fareeha now, because yes, this is impulsive and she didn’t plan this at all, and because yes, yes, she wants this so much, please say _yes._

It feels like a very long moment before Fareeha’s eyes soften, before she wraps an arm around Angela to bring her closer as she lies down, pulling Angela on top of her. Her other hand arranges the pillow underneath her head, and then she’s smiling softly up at her, black hair fanned around her face, golden ornaments glinting gently in the lamplight. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Just the one word leaves her breathless.

“Yeah,” Fareeha confirms, then tilts her head slightly, mussing her hair on the pillow and looking more beautiful than ever. “You didn’t mean right now, did you?”

That familiar teasing tone breaks the tension, and Angela presses her forehead to Fareeha’s as warmth washes over her, from her face and chest down her body, and she bites back the laughter bubbling up in her chest to say, “No. Not right now.” 

“Good.” Fareeha’s breath brushes over Angela’s lips as she speaks, her fingers playing with Angela’s. “Because apparently I need to go clothes shopping.“

She’s not sure which of them starts laughing, whether it first spills out over her lips or rumbles from Fareeha’s chest, but the air between them is filled with quiet laughter. The joy of the moment doesn’t fade when the laughter does, simply quiets and curls in her chest, settling in so peacefully that she almost doesn’t believe it. “Marry me?” she asks this time, softly, in wonder.

And Fareeha’s fingertips tilt Angela’s head, tug her down closer, and she kisses her, deep and slow. “Yes,” she says when they part, and it’s just as perfect an answer as before.

Resettling herself against Fareeha, Angela tucks her head under Fareeha’s chin, feeling the way that the arm around her waist holds her steady and holds her safe as she shifts. She breathes in the smell of Fareeha’s soap and Overwatch’s detergent, a quiet tang of sweat beneath them. She closes her eyes with a sigh and lets her hand drift down Fareeha’s chest to her stomach, soft fabric under her fingers and the taut muscles beneath that. And she slips her hand underneath Fareeha’s shirt, her fingers tracing soft skin and the scattered, ridged scars.

(It’s a good thing that Fareeha isn’t ticklish, she thinks absently, as those muscles tense briefly under her touch.)

This is not the first time she’s tried to memorize a moment, to take in Fareeha with all of her senses. But that was before, when they were first becoming, when she was still trying to convince herself that this was real, that Fareeha was real. That this relationship was something she was allowed to have, when worry would lurk in the back of her mind and send her nightmares that had her gasping awake, checking to make sure that the woman beside her was there and whole.

And Fareeha has gained scars since then, and Angela as well. But three years has done a lot to quiet the voice, though not silence it, not completely, not when she knows that nothing is guaranteed safe or forever. Not their best efforts, not the best technology in the world, not a simple, breathed promise about a shared future.

But oh, how much it means.

“I’m going to be your wife,” she murmurs into Fareeha’s skin, and Fareeha laughs again, stomach shaking under Angela’s fingertips, brushing Angela’s hair away from her face to reveal her pleased smile. She pushes herself up, creating just an inch of space between them, to smile more freely into warm brown eyes. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Fareeha manages before Angela kisses her, and as fingers thread through her hair and teeth nip at her bottom lip, all lingering thoughts about plane schedules and packing lists finally fade out.

—

Jesse drives to the airport, because Angela refuses to take an Overwatch transport for this, not when she’s the only one going, not when a commercial plane works just as well. So she asks Jesse to drive, and she sits in the back with Fareeha and nestles into her arms once again.

Despite her intentions, she falls asleep like that, lulled by the sway of the car and the lowered murmur of conversation, when the other two notice how she’s drowsing after several late nights of preparations and tying up of loose ends.

Finally she wakes when Jesse growls at someone who cut him off in the exit lane, and she blinks sleepily as they maneuver through the airport.

When Jesse stops at the drop off and they all pile out of the car, Fareeha shakes her head and places a gentle hand on Angela’s arm when the trunk opens, and Fareeha pulls the suitcase out and sets it on the ground. And this time, they share a smile as Jesse coughs and looks away.

Fareeha accompanies her inside, and they’re silent until they get to the security line together. Because Fareeha cannot come any farther, and so they turn toward each other, fingers twining together.

“If you forgot anything, you know who to call,” Fareeha tells her, and Angela presses herself upward for a quick kiss, conscious of the crowd pressing around them and how she’s never been good with goodbyes.

“I’ll see you later,” Angela promises, and though it’s not easy, she makes herself turn away and walk through security.

As the plane begins to taxi down the runway, Angela closes her eyes, leans back into her seat, and runs her fingers over her empty ring finger. Because even if it was practical for her to wear jewelry, she doesn’t need more than the memory of Fareeha’s voice.

Still, when the wheels finally lift off the ground, she might be flying, but it just doesn’t feel the same.


End file.
